


Sleeping Beauty

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, DH Era, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Minor Consent Play, Pre-Planned Setting, Somnophilia, headmaster/student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 17:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12040773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: Unable to sleep, Draco goes to Severus for help. He gets more than he bargained for.





	Sleeping Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Somnophilia slot on my Kink Bingo card. While there is some consent play, all acts are fully consensual and pre-negotiated. I just wasn't quite sure how to write it in.
> 
> Hope you like it!

“Please, sir. If you’d just—”

“I’ve already told you no, Mr. Malfoy. Do not make me tell you a third time.”

Draco represses his frustrated huff and stares at Snape. He sits behind the Headmaster’s desk, not bothering to look to Draco as he stands before him, desperately seeking help.

“Please,” Draco says again. Some of the portraits are staring, watching their argument with mild interest. Draco does his best to ignore them. “I’ve not slept in days.”

“Then perhaps you should consult the current Potions Master,” Snape answers. “This is no longer my burden.”

Draco sighs and steps forward to take the vacant seat. Snape looks up, annoyed; his eyebrow arching as he waits for Draco to speak.

“Please, Headmaster,” Draco says for a third time. He does his best to make himself look vulnerable, to make Snape feel even the tiniest hint of sympathy. “Yours are better than Slughorn’s.”

A compliment, a stroke of the ego—it seems to do the trick. Snape stares at him for another moment before standing with an annoyed sigh. He disappears from the office, returning moments later with a clear vial, a deep purple liquid swirling inside.

“Take one mouthful only,” Snape says, placing the vial in front of him. “And do not come back.”

Draco murmurs his thanks, his fingers curling around the jar, though he does not make to leave. Rather, his gaze trails around the room, flicking from Snape to the exit to the door he knows leads to the Headmaster’s bedchamber.

“What?” Snape snaps when he doesn’t move. He looks more than a little annoyed now, Draco notes. His brow is furrowed, his face lined with irritability.

“It’s just...” Draco starts, trailing off. He gnaws at his bottom lip. “Ever since we lost favour, people have been... less than friendly.”

“Your point?”

“It may be unwise to be under the influence of a mind-altering potion while residing in the dorm.”

“If you are suggesting what I think you a—”

“Just a few hours!”

“Draco.”

“I won’t disturb you,” Draco says, widening his eyes. He uses the tactics he’d used as a young child, the ones that had broken even his Father’s will time and again. The ones that seem to break Severus’, too.

“Go,” Snape says, voice low as he waves toward his private rooms. He sounds as if he’ll revoke his permission at any given second, so Draco doesn’t waste time. He simply smiles his thanks and steps around the desk, toward the bedchamber.

*

Severus returns to his work once Draco disappears, the information on the year’s budget mind-numbingly boring. It is a rather trivial matter, he thinks, with so much going on in Wizarding society, and yet it is still something that needs to be taken care of.

By the time he is done, his own eyes droop with a forgotten exhaustion. Sleep, these days, is a rarity to come by, and Severus’ body aches with the effect. Rarely does he have time to himself, and rarer is that time suitable for sleep.

How fitting, then, that he’d allowed Malfoy to take his bed.

Sighing, he stands and moves toward his private quarters. He has every intention to wake Draco, to kick him from his bed and reclaim the spot as his own. Only, when he gets there, the sight of the boy sprawled atop the mattress makes him stop short.

Draco, it seems, has taken liberty with his belongings. His uniform is folded neatly on top of Severus’ armchair, and he lies in bed dressed only in his underwear and a soft, white dress shirt.

 _Severus’_ dress shirt.

Severus breathes through his nose, staring. On one hand, he ought to drag the boy out by his hair and let Carrow handle the punishment. On the other, Draco looks delectably inviting, and the sight of him spread across Severus’ bed and dressed in _his_ clothing tugs at his possessive streak, sets off a physical reaction that makes his blood bubble with want.   

Tentative, he steps closer and inspects the body. Draco’s breaths are deep and steady, his chest rising with every quiet inhale. Severus reaches forward almost without thought, the back of his hand gently brushing a cheek—gauging the body for a response.

There is none. Draco stays just as he is, his breath remaining slow and steady even as Severus adds more pressure to his touch. He seems completely out of it, his form limp and unmoving even as Severus plays with him, even as his hands prod and poke.

He’s awfully pliable, Severus thinks. Easy to move, to manipulate. He can feel his cock hardening in his trousers, the prospect of being able to touch Draco however he pleases, to bend him to his will, to use him however he may want—it is more appealing than Severus had guessed it would be.

When Draco continues to give no reaction, Severus allows his hands to continue their exploration. They travel lower, down his torso and to his crotch, his thighs. The flesh is warm and soft, and Severus kneads it gently, eyes fixed on Draco’s face. His touch is met with a quiet sigh, but there is no other reaction. The younger man remains asleep.

His cock pulses, his arousal now undeniable. Carefully, Severus urges Draco onto his side, onto his stomach. His movements are gentle, are careful. He does not wish to wake Draco up, does not want to deal with the issues it would cause.

Thankfully, Draco continues to snore softly. His head buries into the pillow, and Severus is met with the sight of his arse, the fabric of his pants leaving little to the imagination. Severus settles on the bed carefully, his hands reaching for the mounds of flesh. He rubs his palms across the curve of his arse, across his inner thighs, his fingers pushing the fabric up to reveal more. The skin glows a gentle pink at the attention, and Severus is hit with the wonder of how the skin would react to being smacked, to being spanked.

Perhaps another time, he thinks. Such actions are likely to wake Draco up, and as he considers himself past the point of return, that is no longer an option.

His hands continue with their actions, his palms warming the flesh. Ever so carefully, Severus hooks his fingers under the waist band of Draco’s underwear and pulls. It is with some difficulty that he removes the fabric, but the sight is well worth the effort.

Draco lies with Severus’ shirt bunched around his waist, his arse up and bare, his legs spread wide enough for Severus to catch a hint of his sac, his hole. Severus takes a moment to simply admire the view, the deep black of his eyes glittering with potential. With curiosity.

He is a man of opportunity, and this, Severus thinks, is one worth going after. Draco is there, tempting with his beauty, his vulnerability, his supple body, and with everything that is going on around them, Severus thinks he deserves this. Thinks he can allow himself this one moment of indulgence.

And so, when he remembers the vial of lubricant he’d tucked away in his draw, his summons it. It flies into his hand easily, the glass of the jar cool against his palm.

There is no time to waste. He steps off the bed, ridding himself of his robes before returning. This time, rather than sit next to the body, he settles on top of Draco, one of his knees resting to either thigh. His cock is hard and dripping where it brushes his stomach, and it’s with quick movements that he uncorks the vial and coats his cock with the clear gel. He fists himself, making sure his prick is slick as he stares at Draco’s near naked body, as he thinks of what’s to come.

The angle is awkward, and with the delicacy of the situation, Severus does not consider penetration an option. It’s a pity, really—he’s certain Draco would be a decent shag, is certain his body would be tight and hot and well worth the trouble—but, for now, flesh will have to do.  

Reaching forward, he wipes the excess lubricant on the flesh of Draco’s thighs, working until his fingers can move easily between the flesh. Taking a moment to confirm Draco’s unconscious state, Severus moves his hips forward, presses the tip of his leaking cock between the warmth of Draco’s thighs.

He bites back a groan at the first touch. It’s not the best thing in the world—their positioning is off, the angle too difficult for more than half of his shaft to make it between the solid curve of muscled flesh—but it _is_ good. Undeniably so. Draco’s body is warm, his skin soft. It creates the perfect little opening for Severus to fuck in to.

And he does, cursing quietly as Draco’s thighs engulf his hard prick. His thrusts are sporadic at first, his hips pressing into the heat of Draco’s body with care, but as the arousal bubbles to boiling point, as he starts to lose his control, Severus speeds up. The bed shakes softly, the mattress rocking in time with his hips. Severus stares at Draco’s body, transfixed with the way he takes it, with how it moves with Severus’ touch, with how Draco is still asleep, even now, even with Severus’ cock hard and leaking between his thighs.

There is a voice in the back of his head that tells him he shouldn’t enjoy it, that it should not be as arousing as it is, but that thought—the knowledge of the taboo nature, of how much trouble he could get into, of how _wrong_ it is—it just adds to the pleasure.

A low, guttural moan escapes from the back of his throat, and Severus is hit with a need for _more._ Missing the heat, he moves away for a moment and carefully rolls Draco back onto his back. Like this, he can see Draco’s face, can see the soft twitches he makes with each breath. Like this, he can lean forward and press his mouth to Draco’s, can kiss his way down his neck, across collarbone, down the span of pale flesh that peaks out through the dress shirt. Like this, he can palm Draco’s cock, can rub and pull until the boy is hard in his sleep, until his body rocks with Severus’, until quick hitches of breath join the quiet breathing.

Part of him wants Draco to wake—wants for Draco to be pulled from his slumber, wants to watch as pale grey eyes open, as they blink at him confused, as they flood with understanding. He wonders if Draco will be repulsed; if he’d be disgusted to know that Severus has used his body in such a way, if he’d tell him to stop, if fear would join confusion. Wonders, briefly, if the boy might just like it. If he’d get off on it. If he’d _enjoy_ being used.

He gets his answers first hand.

He moves his cock against Draco’s, and his touch is too hard, the pressure too much. It pulls Draco from his peaceful sleep, makes him regain consciousness with a quiet cry. His eyes open, and he stares right at Severus. Severus doesn’t stop, just stares back at him, even as his cock pulses in his hand, even as Draco’s bleary eyes widen in shock, even as revulsion does mix with confusion.

“Wha—” Draco starts, but it’s cut off with a low moan as Severus squeezes his hand, his thumb brushing over the leaking slit of Draco’s cock. Draco reaches forward, his hands curling around the curve of Severus’ shoulders as if to try and push him off. “ _Stop_ ,” he says, but it may as well have been a request for more with the way it comes out—breathy and laced with pleasure, the word ending with another soft cry.

Severus comes then, his body falling forward. Lank, black hair hangs in front of his face, his chin pressed to his chest as he watches his come coat Draco’s body, the thick white stripes painting pale skin and catching on the hem of his shirt. With a well-placed twist of his wrist, Severus gets Draco to follow immediately, the body below him arching with a silent scream as he, too, comes between their chests.  

They are both left panting heavily, Severus’ body still keeping Draco’s in place. Draco looks up at him, face expressing a mix of emotions. Most prominent still, however, is shock.

“Headmaster,” Draco starts, his hands gripping Severus’ upper arms, but Snape cuts the rest of the sentence off by covering Draco’s mouth with his own, his kiss harsh and brutal and effectively cutting off Draco’s ability to speak.     

“Shh,” he says, and Draco can do little else but obey.

***

After, once they’ve regained their breath and cleaned all evidence of their activities, Severus lies on his back. He stares at the ceiling, one hand spread out across the mattress, the weight of Draco’s body pressed against his side.

“Did you like it?” Draco asks, looking to him from the corner of his eye.

“More than I anticipated.”

Draco smirks, pleased with himself. “I told you. You should share your fantasies more often.” He shifts against the bed, presses a kiss to Severus’ shoulder. “Am I any good when I’m unconscious?”

“You still manage to be a brat,” Severus says, his words a lazy drawl.  

“My body must’ve known it was you,” Draco teases.

“Most likely.” Severus’ hand settles on Draco’s lower back, his fingers gently brushing over the flesh. “You do need to work on your persuasive skills,” he tells him. “That was rather pathetic.”

Draco snorts. “I was playing it up for your benefit,” he says. “I know you love it when I beg.”

“Still pathetic,” Severus murmurs, teeth nipping Draco’s ear.

Draco grins. “Next time, I think I should wear my uniform. Don’t you?”

Severus, eyes now shut and head pressed to the pillow, merely sighs.


End file.
